Alternate Ending
by jungleanimal
Summary: exactly what the title says. An alternate ending to The Performer. What if JJ's cell phone hadn't been on vibrate? Very, very angsty and dark. rated for violence and language. now a 2-shot
1. Chapter 1

**First off, I'd like to say I have no idea where this came from. I just wondered why JJ had her phone on vibrate, and then started to wonder what would happen if it wasn't and this is what I came up with.**

**Warning: VERY VERY angsty. More angsty than anything I've ever written. **

**Disclaimer: I do not own CM.**

JJ POV

I knocked on the door, as usual. It was just supposed to be a regular interview, but things are not always what they seem.

When Gina first opened the door, I should have known something was wrong. She was rambling, talking nonsense, but I chalked it up to her having just lost her best friend. She said something about her grandmother waking up, and she walked away. She left the door wide open, so I let myself in.

Okay, so sometimes people tease me and call me a pack-rat, a slob, disorganized. But Gina's house absolutely disgusted even me. There were boxes piled on top of boxes, way above my head. I stepped on a bug crawling on the floor and made my way to the back, trying not to knock over any chairs or clothes, or anything that may fall on me.

Outside wasn't much better. Honestly, I was shocked that one person could own so much _crap_. More chairs, more boxes, more scraps of wood sat on top of one another. I called Gina's name, but I guess she didn't hear me, so I kept walking. I couldn't see around all the stuff, but I knew she had to be here somewhere, so I introduced myself. "Gina? My name's Jennifer Jareau." Silence. "Gina, where'd you go?"

Now I knew something was wrong. Why wasn't she answering me? Something might be happening to her—or her grandmother--

I turned the corner and saw her in some strange hut type thing. Somewhere in the back of my mind I wondered how someone who was so disorganized could build something so sturdy, so useful. But I was distracted by the blood.

Containers and containers filled with blood.

My brain didn't connect the dots. Blood, serial killer—I should have known, but I didn't. I probably just didn't want it to be true. I was probably too freaked. Yet my hand reached for the gun.

Sure, I'm a crack-shot, but I don't like to brag, and I sure as hell don't like pulling my weapon for no reason. I tried to ask her what was going on, but my throat was tight in anxiety and I couldn't get passed her name. I opened my mouth again to speak, and then...darkness.

"_Who the hell is she?"_ the voice was male, shaky, unsure. I wondered why somebody would be so worried, so self-conscious that his voice would be so unsteady. I tried to lift my head to see what was happening, but what I saw was even worse than what I heard. My stomach churned; I wanted to vomit.

"_Blood is going bad...it's going bad_," Now a female's voice, just as shaky. Something was familiar about her voice, but I couldn't quite place it...

The man spoke again, but I couldn't make out the words. They ran together, not unlike the pictures I was seeing. My brain wasn't putting together sounds or sight. Then I remembered.

Gina. That was the woman. But who was the man? I couldn't tell if he looked familiar or not, the world was spinning too fast. That was why they both sounded and looked shaky--it was me, not them.

Something more about the blood going bad. Then about Dante; I remembered him as the singer, the lead suspect. Suddenly, everything was moving much slower. Not normally, just not as fast. I still couldn't move.

"_Kill this woman."_ The words echoed, though I honestly can't say if it was because of my head injury or because of my fear.

Probably both.

"_Kill this woman_." My hand made its way to my hip, where my gun was resting right where I left it. Later on, I will wonder why they left me with a weapon, but right then and there my only thought was survival.

I closed my eyes to block out the shaking earth as I pushed myself up using my elbows. I winced as all of my weight rested on my arms, but I wouldn't give up. I would not give up.

_Ring. Ring. Ring._

My cell phone. I was going to turn it on vibrate before I got to Gina's house, but I had completely forgotten.

_Ring. Ring. Ring_.

The sound, usually just an ominous noise, pierced my ears and made my head shriek. I grunted and fell back on my stomach.

_Ring. Ring. Ring._

I bit back a moan as the ringing physically hurt me. I felt like my head was going to explode. I clutched where the shovel made contact with the back of my head, only to draw my hand away when I realized how much worse that made it. I made my hands into tight fists, my nails cutting into my palm. It didn't matter though; I would take that pain over my horrendous headache any day.

"The bitch is awake?" The man asked Gina. I heard them mumbling about something unintelligible and saw him hand her some sort of blue stick, which she took rather reluctantly.

Gina came over to me and slowly, shakily, lowered her hand. She was holding the strange blue object tightly in her right hand, which tried to find its way to my neck.

I finally realized what was happening here. I attempted to roll over, only to be greeted with more throbbing in my head.

"Whoa there, that's not going to work," the man muttered. I began thrashing around violently whilst trying to keep my head as still as possible. I moaned loudly, trying to get the attention of anyone within earshot.

"Shut up," the man growled. When I didn't obey, he ripped off the sleeve to his shirt and rolled it up in a rope-like thing. Mid-moan, he stuffed the cloth into my mouth as a gag and tied it behind my head. I coughed against the foreign object in my mouth, but when I reached back to untie it, I saw a big knife gleam in his hand. Immediately, I stopped squirming.

Meanwhile, Gina and her blue object got closer to my face. But I was still unable to move my head sharply to avoid being pricked.

The blue thing was cold and pointy against my neck. At first it did no damage, but she gradually began to push harder. As soon as I felt the blood dripping, soccer instinct took over.

I lifted my leg up and kicked as hard as I possibly could. It got the man right where I was aiming for. He yelped in pain, a sound I would have laughed at under different circumstances.

As he clutched his groin, he dropped the knife right above where he had been holding it.

Right on my leg.

When the blade first pierced my skin, I was in too much shock to feel anything. But then the pain processed. It was piercing, it was agony. I screamed despite the gag, but not loud enough for even Gina to hear me.

Gina, who was still pushing the blue thing further into my neck.

Suddenly, I knew how all the other victims died.

Then I heard a sound I will never take for granted again. I heard Morgan and Hotch calling my name.

I wanted so desperately to tell them where I was. I wanted to call out, to have them save me. I wanted Morgan to lift me and carry me away from this torture, from this hell.

The only thing stopping me was a piece of fucking cloth.

"JJ? JJ!" I heard Rossi shout. Gina's hold on the weapon lessened ever so slightly as she looked around in bewilderment.

"JJ!" Emily gasped. Then, "I got her!"

Wait a second, I thought. She found me. Emily found me. I would make it....

"Gina! Gina, step away from Jennifer," Emily ordered. I heard shuffling behind me, suggesting that the rest of the team had crowded around the scene.

But as Emily was attempting to talk Gina out of murdering me, I saw a blur as Hotch tackled her to the ground. I felt the blue weapon leave my body and the blood flow sped up.

Morgan ran up and untied the cloth from behind my head. I coughed slightly as he pulled it out of my mouth.

"Her leg," I heard Emily croak. Morgan and Hotch gasped as they saw the knife embedded in my leg.

"Call an ambulance," Morgan said softly to Rossi. "JJ, you're okay, we're here. It's going to be okay."

"My...my leg," I managed to groan.

"I know. We are calling an ambulance. It should be here soon. Stay with me, Jayje. Tell me what happened," he pleaded as I fought to keep my eyes open.

"I—I tried talking to...Gina. Man came and hit...my head," I gasped out. "Gina tried to kill me like she...murdered the others. Man dropped knife--" I let my voice trail off.

"JJ, stay with us," Hotch ordered. I took a deep breath.

"Ambulance is here," Rossi said. "I'll go get the paramedics."

Morgan nodded. He, Hotch, and Emily sat beside me, rubbing my back and murmuring comforting words.

Three men rushed up to us, one of them carrying a box in his hand. The medics, I figured. He said something to Rossi and Morgan.

Somebody was talking to me, but I couldn't tell who. Words like stitches, blood loss, and concussion were being thrown around. Something about removing a knife. But I didn't understand any of it.

I closed my eyes and let the familiar darkness engulf me. I let my pain get swallowed by the blackness, the nothingness.

It was nice.

**Wow, where the hell did this come from? Just kind of wrote it as I thought it. Really, really angsty, I know.**


	2. Chapter 2

**A huge thank you to foxyfeline for the suggestion to continue PLUS the idea for this next chapter. This chapter is a little (okay, a lot) shorter than the last one, but so was this scene on the show so that's okay.**

**The plane ride home from LA. Also JJ POV.**

Rossi got on the plane first, carrying all my bags and case files. I followed him, Hotch and Emily helping me along the way. Hotch took my crutches and I leaned against Emily, hopping up the stairs onto the plane.

"You know, you really shouldn't be flying," Hotch informed me after seeing the struggle to merely get on the plane. Reid limped onto the plane as well, followed by Morgan.

"I'm fine," I insisted as Emily softly put me down on the couch. I swung my legs over, laying my injured leg out across the couch and leaned back on the armrest, closing my eyes for a second. But I opened them again after feeling the worried stares my team was giving me.

"JJ, you suffered from blood loss, not to mention the concussion." He said, handing me an ice pack which I took gratefully.

"I know, I was there." I winced in pain as I put the ice pack on my head.

Reid, from the back of the plane, apparently didn't hear the conversation and changed the subject. I reminded myself to thank him later for that. "Hey, do you think Daves will continue to perform as Dante?"

"The character is partly responsible for the murders of four women," Prentiss reminded us, handing me a bottle of water. I took it, slightly confused. "If he has any conscious at all, Dante died with them."

Hotch handed me a bottle of painkillers—suddenly the water bottle made more sense.

"Thanks," I muttered to both of them.

"Are you okay?" she asked once again.

"Yeah; the doctor said I'll be in a little pain for a while, but I'm fine. Really," I said to everyone.

"I just feel so bad I didn't go with you to interview Gina," Reid said, draping a blanket over my legs. I winced slightly again as the blanket made contact with my wound, and he looked at me apologetically.

"Spence, stop," I ordered as I gently removed the rough blanket from my leg, "we had no way of knowing she was going to be dangerous. She was just the friend of a victim." At Spencer's look, I added, "Granted, a schizophrenic friend with a sociopathic partner.

"And a shovel," Emily couldn't help but add with a smile.

"Plus, we have other things to worry about."

"Like what?" Morgan asked, concerned.

"Well, for starters, what everyone else is going to think when arrive to help out on cases and two of us are on crutches," I joked.

"Well, on the bright side, maybe they won't trust us and we'll have to deal with less cases," Rossi shrugged.

"Which means less paperwork. Win-win," Emily grinned.

"Jayje, you don't strike me as the type of person who would care what others think," Morgan said.

"I'm not. It's you guys I worry about." The team shot me a confused look. "Well," I explained, "when Spence and I come and can't walk, they are going to be sympathetic. You are just going to have to do more work."

"Please. Reid is a profiler, and he can do that from a chair! Plus, if I'm right, he's back on his leg soon. Then it will be only you..." Emily said, pausing to see my reaction.

"Yeah, well then who's going to hold the press conferences?" I asked, laughing as I tried to picture anyone else talking in front of the pushy, annoying reporters.

The rest of the team followed my train of thought and laughed as well.

Just then, the plane hit a small bump. However, the slight movement nearly sent me rolling off the couch and left my head throbbing. I bit my lip and closed my eyes, waiting for the pain to pass.

"JJ, were you even cleared to fly?" Hotch asked.

"Yeah, doctor said it was fine," I answered through my teeth.

"Which doctor?"

"Uh..."

"JJ. Which doctor?"

I opened my eyes and stared at Hotch and the team. "Doctor Reid," I answered truthfully.

"Reid, you cleared JJ to go? You do know that just because you have a doctorates degree does _not_ mean that you can clear her, right?"

When there was no response, I looked over and saw Reid staring into space.

"Spence, you okay?" I murmured, nudging him with my good foot.

"Hm? Oh, uh, shouldn't I be asking you that?" he asked with an unconvincing smile.

I looked at him, knowing exactly what he was thinking about. "He's dead, you know. You killed him; he's gone. Gina is getting help. We're fine."

He shook his head. "No, no we're not. I guess I just never realized that it would happen again."

"It did, and it will. There are going to be more times when we don't realize someone's illness, Reid. There are going to be more times when we don't realize someone's involvement."

"What am I missing?" Rossi asked.

"Ever hear about Tobias Henkel?" I asked. Rossi shook his head.

Morgan took a deep breath. "About four years ago, JJ and Reid went to interview a potential witness. He denied everything, and it turned out that he was the unsub all along. All three unsubs, actually; he was suffering from DID, or dissociative identity disorder. He...uh, he kidnapped and tortured Reid for two days."

"Just like Gina. Someone was sent to interview a witness, and ended up getting injured. First we don't know about Tobias and his DID, now we don't know about Gina and her schizophrenia. What's next? How many times is this going to happen? How many times are we going to suffer?"

"Countless times," Hotch said sadly. "When we signed up for this job, we signed up for everything, pain and loss included. It's horrible, what Tobias did to you. And it's horrible, what Gina did to JJ, but it will happen again, and you have to be prepared for that."

"How?"

"How? Well, by living in the moment. There's no way to know when something like this is going to happen, and the only thing we can do is not try to predict the future, but try to profile what we do know. We are already giving it 100 percent, and you know better than anyone that you can't go above that."

"So there's nothing else we can do? Hotch, we are giving it our best and we still get tortured and hurt. We are each doing everything we possibly can. JJ did her best, yet shealmost got murdered." I flinched involuntarily at this comment. Emily leaned over and rubbed my good leg in a comforting motion, which I thanked her for with a weak smile.

Hotch stared at me for a moment before responding. "It's a team effort, not something you have to do alone. If we all just keep doing what we've been doing and work together, we will all be fine."

Reid looked right at me. "Now I know how you felt. I feel guilty, I feel horrible. This was all my fault. I should have come with you."

"And I shouldn't have left you at Henkel's, but I did."

"JJ, you were being attacked my man-eating dogs. I was working a profile. There's a difference."

"Spence, you couldn't have come! It's not your fault; you were on crutches!" I reminded him angrily. How could he blame himself for this?

"Yeah, and now so are you. No thanks to me."

"Spencer Reid, this is in no way your fault. Nothing would have changed what happened to me. Think of it this way: if you had come, we both would have been hurt." I took a deep breath. "Listen to me. Both of us suffered, but both of us won. The bad guys are gone, and we're still here. We won, Reid."

I didn't realize the truth in my words until after I said them aloud. It was true; we won. Spencer had suffered with Tobias, Prentiss with Cyrus, Garcia with Battle, and now me with Gina. It was horrible, what these guys did to us, but we always came through. Because when you mess with one of us, you mess with all of us.

Because when one person suffers, we all suffer.

So it was then that I realized that I was going to have to be prepared. I was going to have to be separated emotionally, but also compassionate. I was going to have to use my judgment in the future to decide what is right and what is wrong, because in this job, there is no knowing until it is too late.

So I will always be ready. For everything.

And maybe with some luck, history won't repeat itself. Maybe with some luck, we will be able to catch the unsubs without any of us suffering.

Maybe.


End file.
